


filling in the (blanks)

by lethargicProfessor



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Avengers, Gen, I didn't technically watch endgame but marvel can eat my entire ass, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Recovery, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-01-30 20:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21434566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicProfessor/pseuds/lethargicProfessor
Summary: They all have some big shoes to fill. It's lucky they have each other to ease into it.-Sam, Sharon, and Bucky, and making the most of the missing pieces.(Not Canon Compliant)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. by any other name

**Author's Note:**

> This work is not to be reproduced or reposted on any site or app other than Archive of Our Own, Tumblr, and WordPress (LPWrites/LethargicProfessor). This work is available for free on these sites, and is ** not to be used or sold for profit by any third parties or apps. **

“So, did you decide if you were going to keep the name?” Sharon asked, phone in one hand and chopsticks in the others. She gave off an air of nonchalance, but Sam would bet the shield that she had something going on.

A look at Barnes more than solidified it, the suspicion clear in his eyes. 

“Is that what dinner was about?” Sam asked in return, spearing a spring roll with a chopstick. He had been surprised when Sharon had shown up with bags of food in tow, but as she had explained earlier, it was her job as their official SHIELD liaison to get to know them better to help them better. 

Sharon smiled, sweet as could be, and shrugged. “Curiosity.”

“How much is curiosity worth?” Barnes picked at his dinner with some caution now, though Sam was sure he knew Sharon wouldn’t have tampered with it. 

“Right now? About 200 bucks, though it sounds like someone’s willing to go double or nothing.” She set her phone aside and slid it towards the center of the table face down, returning to her rice. “I’m not above splitting the pot.”

“Only if you tell me what everyone else bet on.” It’s in bad form, to be betting on something so monumental, but it’s not like he wouldn’t have done it if it was him.

Sharon hummed, eyeing Barnes’ plate. Slowly, deliberately, she moved her chopsticks over to snag the untouched egg roll on his plate, before he reached out and blocked her. He held her eye for a second, then grinned, sliding it over willingly. “You’re just like Peggy.”

“I’ll have to ask you for that story next time.” Prize in hand, Sharon grabbed her phone again and quickly scrolled through it. “So, the other contenders are Falcon Cap, Captain Falcon, Captain Wilson, and the very small subgroup insistent on Bucky Cap.”

“Hell no, I’m not taking that up,” Barnes muttered at his plate, turning to glare at Sam like he’d been the one to suggest it. “You can deal with all that nonsense.”

“You don’t do votes of confidence, do you?” Sam watched Sharon type furiously on her phone with a dark smirk, shaking his head. “Is that good news or bad, Carter?”

“That U.S. Agent asshole doubled the double. He thinks the higher ups are gonna make you trade with him so _he’ll_ be the new Cap.” She rolled her eyes at that, holding her phone up, camera out. “So! Mister Sam Wilson, what do you say? What’s the official verdict on the name game?”

“You recording?” Once Sharon nodded, Sam shot the camera his best smile. “Folks, you’re looking at _Captain America_.” 

“Three cheers for Captain America,” Barnes drawled, then snickered like it was an inside joke. Still, Sam had to admit it felt good to hear it. It made it real.

Captain America. Who would have thought?


	2. for thought

Sharon’s sitting on his couch – their couch? It’s so weird, having a roommate again, what’s his and what’s not? – halfway through a pack of Oreos that he knows he didn’t buy when he gets home.

“You don’t have a key to this house, ma’am,” Sam says, and looks around the place to see what else is out of order. As far as he can tell, it’s just her, sitting cross legged on his couch watching the news, eating cookies for breakfast.

Sharon has two cookies in her mouth at a time, and tries to answer around it. “Your locks are terrible.”

“Forgive me if my security system isn’t up to your standards.” Sam rolls his eyes and drops his bag by the front door and makes for the kitchen. Usually, morning runs helped clear his head, but Sharon showing up out of the blue can only mean work and stress and that piles on his shoulders.

He is, however, pleasantly surprised to see his fridge is fuller than when he left. “You remembered my brand.” He raises the jug of orange juice towards her. “Thanks.”

“So I’m forgiven?” She grins, lips pressed tight and cheeks puffed out with cookies until he caves and nods. “Good. Barnes is still at the gym, by the way.”

“So you’re a liaison and a mind reader too?” Sam is about to take a swig from the jug out of habit, but the pointed look Sharon shoots him makes him sigh and grab a glass from the cupboard. 

“I have talents upon talents, Wilson.” Sharon stretches and checks her watch, tapping on it absently. “Barnes should be here in a few.”

“Please tell me you have a tracker on him? He disappears at the worst times.” It’s not his fault, and Sam knows it, but the guy moves like a shadow. Years of conditioning are hard to break but Sam has half a mind to put a bell collar on the guy and call it a day.

“No, he’s just really predictable.” Sharon turns the TV off and stands, gathering her cookies with a hum. Not a minute later, Barnes walks in the door, eyeing her curiously but saying nothing.

“Good morning,” Sharon hums, and folds the plastic flap over the rest of the Oreos for later. 

“Morning,” Barnes says a beat later, squinting at the packaging. “Hydrox were better.”

“You’re so old.” Sam grins when Sharon chokes on her last cookie, tucking it into his cupboard. (Their cupboard, he supposes.)

Barnes looks only vaguely disgruntled, running a hand through his newly-short hair. “We have a mission, Carter?”

“Oh! No, not right now.” She thumps her chest to finish clearing her throat and leans back against the counter. “I just came to see how you were doing.”

“Yeah? What’s the verdict?” Barnes pushes past Sam to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, chugging it down in seconds. 

“Besides crappy locks and bachelor groceries? Not terrible.” She taps her fingers against her arm, looking like she wants to say something else, but shakes her head. “Do you guys eat breakfast?”

“I know I do,” Sam shoves Barnes out of the way again to peer into the fridge, grabbing a carton of eggs. “If you’re stayin’ to eat, you have to help though, Carter.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that.” She rolls her sleeves up and takes the carton, smiling at Barnes. “You helping too, or are you just gonna watch and sit pretty?”

Sam would laugh at the look on Barnes’ face; he’s so taken aback by light teasing that it’s worth the barbs back. It makes him look human again. He takes a second to compose himself, and gives Sharon a smirk that would have made anyone swoon. “Only if you say I’m pretty again.”

She laughs, and Sam and Barnes can’t help but join her, and soon the sounds of banter and breakfast fill the apartment that’s not just his anymore. 


	3. where the heart is

“Do you live here now?” 

Sharon drops her head back against the couch, staring at Barnes. Sam, sitting at the kitchen table reading, doesn’t say anything, but is obviously waiting for an answer.

Not hostile. Just curious. For a fleeting moment, Sharon’s brain spits out _Is this friendship?_ before she dismisses it.

“It just so happens that someone doesn’t live near a conveniently-empty house I could buy in the neighborhood.” It was easier with Steve when he lived in the apartment complex, easy to settle into a routine when the leases didn’t matter. Sam’s house is in a neighborhood too settled to be on the market, and the nearest house that wasn’t too much of a hassle to fix up is too far to justify.

Sam snorts and rolls his eyes and grins, and it’s with a fond exasperation that Sharon’s getting used to seeing. “I don’t do apartments anymore. If I had to live another day with the neighbor’s dog barking at three in the morning I would have…” 

He trails off, and Sharon sees the quick look he shoots at Barnes. He’s not sure either. They’re all treading water, seeing what boundaries to push. It’s nice to know she’s not the only one struggling to see where she slots into the puzzle.

If Barnes notices, he doesn’t seem to care, sitting down in Sam’s recliner. Sam makes a noise – he’s so particular about things, and Sharon still can’t tell if he’s playing it up for a sense of normalcy, or if Barnes just pushes his buttons.

Judging by the smug grin Barnes shots back, she guesses it’s the latter.

“It’s a Friday night, isn’t it?” Barnes says. Sharon blinks and checks her phone. It is, but what of it? 

Barnes stares at her, then at Sam. “Don’t folks usually go out on Friday nights? Or is that not a thing anymore?”

“Do I look like I’m in any position to be going out for drinks?” There’s a laugh in Sam’s tone, turning in his chair to eye Sharon. “What about you, Carter? I’m sure you got friends to go spend a night off with.”

Yes, it is her night off, technically, though her job demands her to be on-call more often than not. If she looked hard enough, she could probably find some old phone numbers of friends she’s lost touch with.

Sharon stares at her lap, where a cup of mini Oreos sits balanced next to a Sudoku book. She’s in a pair of sweats that double as pajamas, and she’s comfortable enough that her foot’s fallen asleep tucked under her. “Well…”

“Oh, Share, please tell me you have friends outside of us.” Sam leaves the kitchen table to sit on his coffee table; Sharon finds her cup of Oreos very interesting suddenly. 

“I’m…committed to my work.” Sharon shrugs and shoves a handful of cookies in her mouth.

Barnes sits up, looking floored. “Are we really your only friends?” He asks, then points to himself to emphasize. “_Me_? _Us_?”

“You could do worse,” Sam says, fighting a laugh. Sharon isn’t sure if it’s aimed at her or at Barnes, but either way she flushes. Her ears feel hot and she’s sure she’s red to her roots, fighting the need to justify or explain.

“It’s not easy, finding people who understand the kind of work we do.” She decides on, sitting up primly. “And I don’t really feel like having to do a background check on any new potential friend.”

“Guess having your whole organization be compromised will do that to ya.” Sam stands and shakes his head, walking back to the kitchen. “Alright, put that shit up. We’re gonna watch a movie and drink and not think about how weird our personal lives are.”

“If I get off your chair can I choose the movie?” Barnes calls after him, and winks at Sharon when she snickers.

“So you can pick an oldie again? I think the fuck not.” Sam returns with a bag of chips and three beers, sitting on the couch with a groan. “We’re watching Star Wars and you’re gonna like it.”


	4. of a feather

It’s dawn when they pile into Sharon’s SUV and head towards the military airfield. Despite it being so early, no one seems tired – the benefits of having a bunch of early birds as special agents.

They don’t talk much about what they’re going to be doing, Sharon and Sam instead choosing to argue about a new TV show, Bucky putting in his two cents every so often though he can’t sit still long enough to watch anything lately.

Talk turns to sports, which Sharon follows vaguely, Sam follows socially, and Bucky does not follow, because for a second he’d forgotten sports were a thing. (Which is silly, because didn’t he and Steve go out of their way to get to every Dodgers game they could? A lifetime ago. He pushes the thought back.)

The airstrips come into view, and Sam’s giddiness grows, until he’s almost bouncing in his seat. “You guys excited?”

“That’s a word for it,” Bucky says, and can’t help but grin at the laughs that follow. They’re infectious, even if Sam hogs the shower and brings up their first meeting with barbs that border on mean at times, and Sharon watches him when she thinks he’s not looking like he’ll revert back to compliance if she looks away.

It’s. Reasonable. Understandable. Bucky doesn’t hold it against them. If it were any different, he’s sure he would do the same. The only real asshole who wouldn’t isn’t around anymore. It’s done wonders for his blood pressure.

Sam takes the lead once inside, and they receive their gear without a struggle, and with the sun starting to warm the cool air around them, it’s almost nice.

Then Sam puts his gear on, shoots up into the air, and Bucky feels regret fill his chest as Sam whoops and laughs.

“Oh, no,” he breathes.

“If it’s any consolation,” Sharon says, shouting to be heard above the sounds of airplane engines coming to life. “This totally counts as training.”

“It’s not,” Bucky returns, looking up at the air space where Sam’s looping and twirling on his new wings. They’re fancy, matching his new uniform, and he makes it look almost effortless, like a dance. It makes Bucky uneasy; he knows better than anyone how easy it’d be to ground someone with wings permanently.

“You really gonna go up there?” Bucky turns to Sharon, all decked out in padded gear, hair pulled into a tight braid. She smiles and shrugs, but Bucky knows that look, that twinkle in her eye that Sam has, that Steve had, that boldness bordering on carelessness. 

The realization hits him hard enough to wind him.

Bucky groans and slaps his hand over his face. He can’t even complain; he’s suited up too, and he and Sharon both got the basics of using the wings earlier in the week. “Just in case,” Sam had said, and at the time it had seemed perfectly reasonable, the idea of learning to use Sam’s wings just enough to be prepared.

“You don’t have to go up if you don’t want to.” Sharon’s watching him with that light a little dimmed in her eyes, and the concern would be touching if she hadn’t misread his distress.

“It’s not that.” Sam crows far above them and begins landing procedure with a grin so bright it’s blinding. “It’s….there’s _two _of you now.”

“Two of us?” Sharon walks towards Sam with a bounce in her step, turning enough to watch Bucky trudge after her.

He stares at Sam, then back at her, and heaves the heaviest sigh in the world. “Two reckless assholes instead of just one.”

Sharon’s eyes widen and the laugh is more of a cackle as she rushes ahead to tell Sam. He joins her seconds later, their laughter almost louder than the planes in the area.


	5. an island

Sharon is genuinely touched that people outside her immediate family worry about her. She’s grateful for it, but it doesn’t make listening to Sam lecture her in that ‘I’m not your therapist but’ voice any easier.

She leans all her weight on the shopping cart and shoots him a _look_. Sam isn’t cowed by it at all, giving her a grin. “Seriously, Carter. Having friends you can rely on outside of work is important.”

“I don’t see you hanging out with any buddies,” she sulks, and uses her boot to right the rickety cart. She wouldn’t even be out at all, except Sam and Bucky eat enough for an army, and warehouse stores have great samples to try, and Sam graciously came with to help. 

“I have people I catch up with once in a while,” Sam says vaguely, stopping her and the cart to toss in a box of granola. “You can’t even say there’s no time, they got apps for that, too.”

“There’s friend finding apps?” Sharon fixes the box into a corner against a larger box of cereal like the most mundane game of Tetris, leaning on the handle again.

“Sure. There’s Tinder and Grindr and Bumble and Hinge…” Sam lists them off on his fingers, laughing when Sharon aims a kick at his side. “What? It’s the fastest way to meet people nowadays, and you can do all the background checks your little spy heart desires.”

“How come Barnes doesn’t get the therapy talks?” Sharon stares at the aisle filled with candy and pushes the cart past it wistfully.

Sam ducks into it anyways and drops a box of chocolate bars into the cart, shrugging. “He doesn’t need another guy telling him what to do,” he muses, and Sharon stills at the seriousness in his voice. 

She looks up, brow furrowed at Sam’s grimace. “Don’t get me wrong, dude needs therapy, but that’s a given. Everyone should get therapy at least once in their lives. Lots of problems would be a lot easier to solve if therapy was more accessible to folks and if people were willing to fight that stigma.”

“You feel very strongly about this,” Sharon points out, smiling when Sam rolls his eyes. “You’re right, yeah.”

“Of course I’m right, it’s my job.” He pulls the cart along to the frozen food section, humming tunelessly while he peers into the freezers. “But when he’s ready he’ll go to someone we trust. Until then? What he really needs is to be treated like a person.”

“Is that why you’ve been hiding the remote from him whenever he wants to watch TV?” Sharon butts Sam with the cart, fixing the bags he tosses in.

“Nah, I just like messing with him.” Sam waits for her to finish before moving on, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. “He’s been getting better, but it’s still…rough.”

“I bet it is.” Sharon taps the handle, watching Sam deliberate over a bag of frozen shrimp scampi. “He’s…a practical guy.”

Sam scoffs. “I really can’t tell if that’s because of the Hydra thing or if he was just like that before, but someone’s gotta show the guy there’s more colors out there than just black to wear.”

“We could take him shopping.” Sharon stops at the freezer with ice cream and stares until Sam caves and grabs a tub. “Don’t laugh, but there’s a really nice boba place at the mall that I’d love to go to more often.”

“Nobody’s stopping you from going now, you know,” Sam takes the cart, nudging Sharon away as the carts of free samples come into view. “Bucky isn’t the only one that needs to let loose once in a while.”

Sharon eyes a table with cheese cubes and crackers, and shrugs at Sam. “Only if you promise not to tell anyone that I’m about to go ham on these sample carts.”

Sam mimes zipping his lips shut, and laughs when Sharon slinks off. 

Shopping with Sam is fun. She’ll definitely consider doing it more often.


	6. as its weakest link

John Walker is already waiting when they file into the office, and immediately he sets Bucky on edge.

Something about this guy rubs him the wrong way, pricking at the fragments of memories still struggling to rebuild. He looks like every asshole at basic training, and Bucky distinctly has a flash of a square jaw and sunken blue eyes and a smirk that’s too sharp, too eager to go in guns blazing.

“Well, if it isn’t Unlucky Thirteen and the international terrorists,” he drawls, and the sneer he shoots them makes it obvious he’s not joking. 

“That’s _Agent _Unlucky Thirteen.” Sam says, his fingers tightening around the shield. Bucky doubts he’d actually use it, but he’s sure tempted. Sharon shoots him a look, though there’s no denying the ghost of a smile. 

“Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, meet John Walker.” Sharon motions politely, ever the professional. “Walker, Wilson and Barnes.”

Sam shakes his hand first, a grimace on his face when his knuckles crack from the pressure Walker puts into the handshake. He clenches his jaw, and pops a few back for his troubles, but when he steps back Bucky can see the wince he shoots at them.

When Bucky moves in – it’s the professional thing to do – Walker crosses his arms and stares. “I don’t shake hands with traitors.”

“He’s a prisoner of war, for one,” Sam is quick to stand next to Bucky, staring Walker down though he’s taller than them both, the fire in his eyes just barely contained. 

Sharon’s on Bucky’s other side, raising an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You know the situation, Walker. He’s been exonerated.”

“Once a traitor always a traitor.” He spits, and puffs up, all arrogant posturing. “I don’t care how much of a chump the old Captain America was, he shoulda left this guy to rot for what he’s done.”

It’s a blow to an already tender sore spot, the insecurities Bucky’s been trying to overcome, but dragging Steve down too? His fist clenches and it whirs softly as the components react and it takes everything to let it go.

Sam does not let it go. He shifts the shield to his other hand, clucking softly under his breath, ready to throw a punch, and Bucky braces to hold him back, to block him because this will not end well, when Sharon lunches forward and sucker punches Walker square in the face. 

Walker goes down like a sack of bricks, the floor almost rattling with the solid impact, and he stares at the blood on his thumb with no small amount of shock.

“That felt great,” Sharon grins, shaking her hand. The knuckles are already bright red and raw, but it’s like she doesn’t even care, the glint in her eye so achingly familiar it hurts.

Sam sneers down at Walker, loosening the grip on his shield. “Get up, soldier.”

“Alright, knock it off,” a voice calls, and a haggard-looking Maria Hill props the door into the office space open. “We don’t have the funds to fix up an office if a bunch of super soldiers wreck it again.”

Walker gets to his feet in a huff, spitting blood at the three of them, and marches past Maria without so much as a word.

She rolls her eyes at them and shrugs. “Picking fights already?”

“He started it.” Sam and Sharon reply almost in unison, and snicker to each other as they follow Maria into the room. 

Bucky lingers, and at Maria’s questioning glance, he grimaces. “That’s gonna come back to bite us, isn’t it?”

“Probably.” She offers him a bland smile. “But we’ll have to make the best of it.”


	7. are a man's best friend

It’s not weird for Bucky to disappear for hours on end. The guy’s restless after half a century being stuck in a freezer -- Sam gets that. So unless he receives an SOS or a call from Sharon, he doesn’t really worry about what Bucky gets up to.

He does, however, feel a smidgen of concern when Bucky waltzes in with a box and Sharon in tow carrying bags filled with oddly shaped things.

The box, Sam notes belatedly, has holes in it.

“What did you do?” He asks, watching Sharon set the bags on his coffee table, assorted pet toys tumbling out with a rattle.

Bucky sets the box on the ground and opens it carefully, the three watching as the white head of a cat pops out warily to take in the new scenery. 

“His name is Alpine,” Bucky declares, and there’s a ghost of a genuine smile on his face as the cat hops out of the box and begins exploring.

They settle for the rest of the evening, Sharon and Bucky trailing after Alpine whenever he wanders into the other rooms, setting up cat necessities that Sam is only vaguely aware of, but accepts as part of his life now, he supposes.

It’s only later, after a quick assignment, that he comes back home exhausted to see Bucky and Sharon on the couch, Alpine curled up contentedly on Bucky’s chest.

“You know? I didn’t picture you being a cat guy,” Sam says, peering over the back of the couch at Alpine as he drops his gear in the hall closet.

Alpine, in Bucky’s arms, stares back with an unimpressed air before turning back to face Sharon. 

“Why’s that?” Bucky asks, letting Alpine climb across his chest into Sharon’s lap; Sharon gives a delighted gasp and smooths a hand down the cat’s back, and it’s like the years have sloughed off her shoulders as she plays with the newest member of the family.

Sam shrugs, walking around to sit on his recliner with a heavy groan. “Just figured you’d like dogs more. Maybe a Golden or a Shepherd.”

“I like dogs just fine, but...” Bucky holds a hand out to Alpine’s face, letting the cat sniff before he shoves his face into Bucky’s palm.

“Alpine adopted you,” Sharon nods, watching Alpine climb back onto Bucky with only slight disappointment. “I always wanted a cat, but Dad was allergic to fur, so I only got to play with my cousin Danny’s dogs once in a while.”

“We couldn’t have pets growing up,” Bucky’s voice is tinged with nostalgia, far away in that way Sam knows he’s picking at memories that haven’t been dusted off in a while. “Stevie was allergic to fur and dander and who knew what else... but sometimes I’d catch him tryin’ to feed strays out in the back alley, wheezing up a storm.”

“Sounds like something he’d do.” Sam watches Alpine’s tail stick straight up as he leaps gracefully onto the arm of the couch, then chokes on a laugh when he startles at a piece of lint and leaps into the air.

Bucky sighs, but is obviously trying to fight a smile. “Heart of a lion, this one.”


End file.
